


Points of Orbit

by jadedpearl



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: :'), Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, M/M, Post canon, breaking up when you're still in love, the break up fic no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8345011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadedpearl/pseuds/jadedpearl
Summary: Tooru moves out when their lease ends. Hajime stands in the doorway of their–his–apartment after helping Tooru move all his boxes into Hanamaki’s van. They finished earlier than Tooru thought they would and the sun hasn’t set yet, even though it’s winter. Tooru wants to thank Hajime, hug him, drive the van up back up to the door and move all of his stuff back into their room and pretend like it never happened. But it did, so he climbs into the passenger seat, slowly buckles himself in because his hands are shaking, and sticks one hand out the window as a way of saying goodbye without looking back.





	1. Chapter 1

_it is your blood_   


_in my veins_

_tell me how i'm_

_supposed to forget_

—Rupi Kaur

  


Tooru moves out when their lease ends.

Hajime stands in the doorway of their–his–apartment after helping Tooru move all his boxes into Hanamaki’s van. They finished earlier than Tooru thought they would and the sun hasn’t set yet, even though it’s winter. Tooru wants to thank Hajime, hug him, drive the van up back up to the door and move all of his stuff back into their room and pretend like it never happened.

But it did, so he climbs into the passenger seat, slowly buckles himself in because his hands are shaking, and sticks one hand out the window as a way of saying goodbye without looking back.

His new apartment is closer to the gym where his team practices. Practically speaking, he thinks numbly as they carry his boxes and sparse furniture up the stairs and into the one bedroom, one bath, this is better for him.

When they're done, Hanamaki suggests they get pizza. Tooru declines, gives him a tight hug–which he isn't sure he's done in a while–and sends him on his way.  He's too tired to unpack anything so he lays down on his bare mattress instead. The walls are empty and he already hates the texture of his ceiling. Against his will he thinks of when he and Hajime first moved into their apartment, the one they’ve been in since college, exploring every corner and Hajime insisting on cleaning everything before they unpacked their stuff because _you don’t know how dirty these rooms are, it’s too cheap to really trust the place_ –

He rolls over, tries to think of something else, and fails. He wishes that he had gotten pizza with Hanamaki, wishes that things were like they used to be.

Sleep doesn’t find him so much as it claims him, and Tooru has never been so grateful to not think.

\---

In the last month or so before their lease ended, Tooru didn’t spend much time in their apartment. They had mutually decided that Tooru would move and Hajime would stay and renew the lease, and Tooru can’t really say that he minds; the only reason he stayed–if in name only–was because he didn’t want to dump his share of the rent on Hajime with no adjustment period. He doesn’t want to live in a place that has Hajime’s name mentally stamped over every inch of the walls and the bathroom door that doesn’t really close and the creaking in the rickety steps that lead up to their door. He doesn’t want to stay in the place where they had their first kiss and their first night, and where they first celebrated graduating from college, and then Hajime getting into medical school, and a million other little things that Tooru has a hard time forgetting.

Tooru couldn’t really imagine why Hajime didn’t move out as well, but he never asked because he wasn’t sure that things worked like that anymore. He stayed with Matsukawa and Hanamaki for a few weeks while he got things worked out,  and thought more than once to himself how coincidental it was that they broke up so close to the end of their lease. Almost like they had planned it.

He went back a few times, before the weekend where he packed everything up, to get a sweater here, a book there, always letting himself in with his old keys and never calling ahead. Usually he came when he knew that Hajime would be in class, or at work, but sometimes he messed up and they saw each other. He ran into Hajime on one such occasion, and his heart thundered in his chest for the duration of their mostly silent exchange. He had gotten what he needed quickly, unable to stay in their old room for more than a minute. When he emerged with his favorite coat and some books, Hajime was sitting at the counter with his back turned. Tooru played out a fantasy in his head in which Hajime turned around and told him not to go, stay, please. _Please tell me you need me as much as I need you._

It didn’t happen. Tooru said goodbye and left before he could do something that he'd regret. He reassured himself that it’s okay, it’s okay, _I’m okay, I’ll be okay_ , on the train ride back to Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s apartment.

On another occasion, Tooru crept in to hear the shower going. His stomach hurt when he tiptoed into their room and saw Hajime’s clothes laid out on the bed they used to share. At the sight of it all–his favorite jeans, the fact that he even laid out his socks–he suddenly forgot what he came for in the first place and left. The sick feeling never went away and he went to bed early.

They said that they’d still be friends–of course they’d still be friends. They’ve known each other from the crib, carried each other through grade school and middle school and high school and most of college as friends. Their years as friends outweigh the years as lovers–but Tooru still can’t remember when he first started loving Hajime, so he can’t really know how they’ll ever have a platonic relationship free from the lingering vestiges of the past few years. He can pinpoint when they fell into each other, but not when the thought of being without Hajime made his chest feel tight.

_How is this happening? How did this happen?_

\---

One morning, on the second week of living alone, Tooru’s alarm goes off but he doesn’t get up. He can’t really tell what’s wrong with him other than that he can’t seem to move, can’t seem to feel anything at all. He lays on his mattress for a few hours–he hasn’t gotten his bed frame set up but he has sheets and blankets and pillows now, he’d been doing better, he thought–until he’s able to pick up his phone and call in sick to practice. It’s the first time in a while that Tooru’s missed practice and the coach tells him to take it easy. He wonders what easy is and lets his phone fall back onto the bed once the call is over.

He’s finally able to sit up well into the afternoon. There’s a pounding in his head and he thinks it’s because he’s dehydrated but he’s not sure. Tooru counts to a hundred before he stands. The thought of taking a shower fills him with a sense of exhaustion and he moves to the living room to try to stimulate energy. The journey to get water proves to be too much for him and Tooru trips, winds up on the floor staring at the ceiling he hates so much. It’s the irregular, textured sort that attracts dust and is overall extremely ugly.

When he rolls over, he can see what he tripped over: a bit of the carpet that’s irregular. He can tell that it’s going to be a pain in the ass for him later.

“I want to move out of here,” he says to no one in particular.

 

That night, Tooru decides to go to a bar far from the one he and Hajime used to frequent on the weekend. He takes a taxi out to the the other side of town, makes it to the door of the building before feeling sick. There’s the distinct smell of beer and cigarettes in the air and maybe he went out with the intention of getting laid, but now he can’t imagine laying awake in a stranger’s bed anymore than he can imagine sleeping comfortably in his new, empty room. He dashes back to the taxi before it leaves, surprising the driver, who gives him a pack of tissues to dry his face on the way back home.

When Tooru returns to the–his–apartment, he’s met with a pair of eyes reflecting the lights from the hall. He feels too numb to think about where the animal came from, only turns on his lights to get a better look at the cat sitting in his sink.

She’s a calico, and she doesn’t have a collar. Tooru is too tired to do anything about her so he leaves her where she is and makes microwave popcorn. He tries to find a movie that doesn’t remind him of anything. It’s sort of an impossible task, so he switches through the TV stations until he sees one that’s playing the X Files and leaves it on.

_If Hajime were here_ , he finds himself thinking before he can stop himself, _he would get mad at me for having popcorn for dinner._

He’s started to cry again because he’s tired and he had a shot before he left the house when he hears a croaky sound from the kitchen. _Shit. The cat,_ he thinks through his tears. He stands, scrubbing his face with his hands so hard that he presses stars into the backs of his eyelids, and makes his way to the kitchen. She’s jumped down from the sink and is standing in the doorway to his kitchen croaking pitifully. She doesn’t look thin, but Tooru doesn’t know anything about animals, or keeping pets. Hesitantly, jerkily, he finds a bowl in one of the many opened but unpacked boxes, fills it with water, and sets it down on the tile of his kitchen floor. She runs to it and drinks while he opens his fridge. There’s not much there–beer, bread, a package of cold cuts, and some lettuce that’s wilted far past being saved. He’s been eating out more than he’d like to admit–the days when he was motivated enough to make well balanced meals, or at least shop for them, have been over for a while. _Hajime really would kill me_ , Tooru thinks as he pulls out the packaged salami.  He’s not exactly sure what he’s doing–pulling apart the meat and setting it on a paper napkin (because he’s not about to rifle through more boxes, honestly)–but the cat almost chokes herself wolfing it down.  

Tooru sits next to her, pets her. She’s probably somebody’s, because she doesn’t act like a stray, but she doesn’t have a collar, and he can’t exactly think of a reason not to keep a cat. They’re allowed in his apartment building, he thinks. No one has to know, anyway.

When the X Files episode is over and Tooru has tucked himself in, he feels the mattress dip slightly as she settles in near his foot. When he looks, the light from outside his window reflects in her eyes, before she closes them and settles her head down to sleep.

 

Hanamaki picks up on the second ring. “Yes?”

“Quick question,” Tooru says, his phone jammed in between his ear and his shoulder. “When do you stop feeding cats kitten food?”

“What?”

“Like, at what point is a cat old enough to eat regular cat food?” He’s scanning the rows of bagged cat food in front of him, one hand gripping his shopping basket, the other comparing price tags.

“Is this a question that has to do with you personally?” Hanamaki asks, sounding like he’s rubbing his temples.  

Tooru huffs. “Well, obviously, Makki, or I wouldn’t even ask.”

There’s a pause. “How big is the cat?”

“Uh. Cat sized?”

“Jesus, Oikawa. You’re acting like you’ve never seen a cat before in your life.”

“I didn’t have pets growing up,” Tooru sniffs. “You know my sister is allergic.”

Hanamaki sighs. “As long as it’s not a kitten, I think you can feed it cat food.”

“Great,” Tooru grunts, heaving a bag off the shelf with one hand and dropping it into his basket, slightly smashing some sliced cheese.

There’s a moment of silence, and then: “Do you have a cat now?”

“Well, I’m not going to call it mine, because I found it in my apartment, but I certainly have one more mouth to feed these days. Papa Tooru is providing for more than himself, I’d say.”

“I will pay you to never say ‘Papa Tooru’ again,” Hanamaki deadpans, and hangs up.

 

On his way home from the store, the bag of cat food nestled against his side, Tooru makes the split second decision to get off the train a few stops early. Walking a few blocks and up a slight incline in the street leads him directly to the building that Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s bakery has been operating the past few years. The place was an absolute mess when the two first signed the lease, but since then they’ve somehow managed to make it look welcoming.

The door jingles when he opens it, and Tooru steps into the small bakery, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to fix it from the wind that’s picking up outside. He scans the checkered tiles on the floor, the racks of bread and the counter that’s currently sitting empty. There aren’t any customers, and the whole store seems deserted. Tooru’s been here enough times to know that the down the hall that leads to the kitchen and the restrooms and the office. He takes a few steps in that direction, and he’s about to call out to either Hanamaki or Matsukawa when a man emerges from the hallway, wiping his hands on his pants.

Tooru then proceeds to have one of the most ridiculous encounters he thinks he’s had in nearly two decades. The man won’t let Tooru go in the back even though he’s _been_ here a thousand times. He won’t call a manager, and no, he won’t call the owner. Tooru’s forced to improvise a distraction by dropping the bag of cat food on the floor and then booking it down the small hallway, flinging open the door to the office and pulling it shut behind him. Hanamaki looks up from his computer, startled. 

Tooru drops into the chair in front of the desk. “You’ll never believe how I was treated by that child you call an employee. He didn’t believe that I knew you and wouldn’t get you for me. Like this is a government facility or something! What if I was a health inspector or someone even more important than myself? Speaking of which, he was wiping his hands on his pants when I first saw him. Should he even be doing that?”

Hanamaki smiles, but it looks pained. “I’m glad you hate him as much as we do. If it were up to me we’d have fired him by now.”

“You should,” Tooru says, sinking lower into the chair. “Why haven’t you?”

“We need someone other than us to be manning the front, and we don’t have a lot of

people we could replace him with.”

“Well, he wasn’t even doing that. You should hire someone else as soon as possible.”

“Thanks for the suggestion,” Hanamaki says dryly. “We hadn’t thought of that.”

“This is why you’re lucky to have me,” Tooru grins. “Do I get anything for free for being your most precious friend in the whole wide world?”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes, gets up. “Come on.”

Tooru stands. “I left my cat food on your floor.” Hanamaki turns to him, expression half incredulous.

 

Tooru leaves the bakery with a small bag full of croissants, and the cat food handed back to him by the employee. Tooru gives him a shit eating grin and hums on his way back to the train stop. It starts to rain while he’s waiting, and he quickly tucks the croissants into his jacket.  By the time he gets home, he’s freezing and rain has soaked through every layer of clothing. He hangs everything up to dry in his shower and changes into sweats. The cat rubs against his ankle, and he kneels to pet her.

It’s hard to remember, sometimes, that they broke up for a reason. It’s not a movie. Neither of them are afraid of commitment. There weren’t misunderstandings. It’s as simple as two people who don’t work anymore, like gears that break a clock because they don’t fit together like they used to.

Except. It’s hard for Tooru to convince himself that it’s simple. It’s hard because he’s not mad at anyone but himself. No one cheated. They were honest and upfront at the end, because they realized that they couldn’t be honest and upfront with each other anymore as a couple.

(And apparently not as friends, either, because he and Hajime haven’t talked since that last day at the apartment.)

“Mutual,” he says out loud. He’s laying on his mattress now,  practicing his tosses. Practicing saying it out loud. The cat lifts her head. “It was a mutual thing.” She sets her head back down, curls more tightly against his side. “Hajime and I broke up. It was mutual.” He tries to say it with a confidence that he doesn’t feel. It should be harder, but words are just words to Tooru. The volleyball springs against his hands towards the ceiling, comes back down.

It’s hard to remember the bad things when all he wants to do is hold onto the good. He never wants to think about how they stopped talking, how they fell apart. He never wants to think that they shouldn’t be together. He wasn’t dumped. “It was mutual.”

He knows that they shouldn’t be together–but he also knows what it’s like to break up when you’re still in love, and he can’t tell if he would rather have the relationship go on until it burned the both of them, or this.

\---

Tooru opens the door to leave for a walk one morning to find a very determined Hanamaki standing with his arms crossed just outside of his apartment. Tooru blinks in surprise, then tries to take control of the situation, whatever it may be.

“Did you miss me so much after I visited?” He says, an easy grin propped on his face, leaning against his doorframe casually.

“Gross,” Hanamaki says, pushing into Tooru’s apartment. The cat immediately runs from the mattress into the back room, and Hanamaki watches her go before scanning there rest of the living room. Tooru inwardly cringes at what Hanamaki must see–bare walls, paper plates piled on the counter and unopened boxes everywhere. His mattress still in the corner of the living room, no bed frame–a minimal amount of furniture all crowded in the back room, only a table out and being used. In other words, it’s exactly how a space occupied by Oikawa Tooru would never look.

“I’ll have you know I’m staging an intervention,” Hanamaki declares, placing his hands on his hips. “Your place looks like you moved in yesterday, and you’ve been here over a month.” _It’s not like you._

“I’m just taking my time,” Tooru says defensively, although they both know it’s not true.

“Yeah, well your apartment looks awful. I did not break my delicate back moving your shit into this place for you to just leave it in boxes.”

“Potty mouth.” Tooru pouts. “Aren’t you supposed to be nicer to me? I’m going through a tough time. Besides, it’s my apartment.”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes. “The only thing in the living room is your bed and a table. Why aren’t you sleeping in your room?”

Tooru shrugs. _It doesn’t feel like my room at all._

“Come on, it’ll make you feel better.”

Tooru sets his hands on his hips. “So what you’re saying is that you’re pissed that you had to carry all my stuff so you’re going to help me unpack it?”

Hanamaki grins. “You’re gonna owe me so much.” Tooru groans.

“I have practice.”

“Liar. I know Monday is a rest day for your team. And you don’t have work today–I know because you don’t do anything but volleyball. It’s ten in the morning, come on.”

Sensing that he’s going to lose, Tooru tries one last time. “Don’t you have to be at the bakery? It’s your business.”

“Nope, Issei’s there today. ”

“I can’t believe this.” It’s an admission of defeat.

Hanamaki points at the one poster that’s out (because it’s framed) and laying propped against a wall. “I thought you wanted to believe?”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah yeah. Come on.”

They put up posters and Hanamaki hands Tooru nails to put Christmas lights up around his bed and on the walls. Together they assemble the bed frame and set up the couch and small entertainment center that he bought when he was 19. Tooru puts all his clothes away in his drawers and Hanamaki unpacks the few boxes of dishes and kitchenware and puts them away. When they finish, there’s a rug that his grandmother gave him on the living room floor, movie posters hung around his TV, and Christmas lights in his room. All of Tooru’s furniture is where it should be–couch in the living room, table near the kitchen, dresser in the bedroom. There’s a shower curtain in the bathroom and there are plates in his kitchen cabinets.

Tooru thinks he might cry. _I don’t deserve any of my friends,_ he thinks, looking around at an apartment that looks considerably more welcoming. When he thanks Hanamaki, he’s a bit choked up. 

Hanamaki smiles, looking tired. “At least treat me to pizza this time.”

So Tooru does. They sit on his couch and watch the X Files and for once, Tooru feels okay.

\---

"I just don't understand," Yahaba sighs, slumping in his chair. "You two were always," he crosses his fingers together, "like that."

Tooru leans back. _Yeah, well, me either_.

They’re meeting for coffee and then maybe shopping for things for Tooru’s apartment. Yahaba and Tooru have always related to each other in the fronts that they put up, and have had the policy of No Bullshit with each other. Usually it means that they can call each other out, but Tooru really isn’t in the mood for a direct line of questioning right now, especially not about this. He takes a while to reply. "Sometimes you want it to work but it just doesn't." He leans his hand in his palm, looks out the window. "Like I said, it was a mutual thing. Maybe he knows better than I do." He’s practiced saying to so many times to himself that it almost feels natural.

Yahaba stares down at his coffee, tracing the rim of his mug with the tip of his index finger and clearing off the sugar crystals that have clung there. Finally he looks up, sighs, and lowers his chin into the palm of his hand.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking down again.

There's a pause, and Tooru says "Me too," quickly before taking a long drink of his coffee.

"Do you think it was school?" Yahaba asks later, when they’re aimlessly wandering through a department store. Tooru doesn’t want to think about his apartment at this point; he wants rainboots (he swears the city is trying to drown him) and Yahaba’s looking for a new coat.

_Maybe. I don't know._ "It's not that easy to just place the blame on one thing,” he says, searching through the men's section in what he feels is a vain attempt to find adequate foot wear for a rainy day. “We just didn’t work anymore.” 

Yahaba emerges from another section with a dark brown coat. “Forget it,” Tooru declares, standing from where he was stooped to look at shoe sizes. “I’m better off looking online.” He does a once over of the coat. “You should buy that. It compliments your eyes.”

Yahaba smiles, takes the coat up to the cashier and pays for it. Tooru follows him out of the store with his hands deep in his coat pockets.

“So I got a cat,” he says as they step outside. It was raining when they met up inside, and it hasn’t stopped since.

“Wow, really?” Yahaba says as they unfold umbrellas. “I didn’t know you were much of a cat person.”

“Well,” Tooru replies, looking both ways before they start to cross the street. He really wishes that he had been able to find rain boots. “I’m not, exactly. I just came home and it was in my apartment. I asked around and apparently it doesn’t belong to anyone, and it won’t leave, so I guess it’s mine now.”

Yahaba grins. “What’d you name it?”

“Can’t think of anything yet,” Tooru muses, scratching his chin. “I’ve never had a pet before.”

“Didn’t Iwaizumi’s family have a dog when he was in highschool?” Yahaba says absently, then looks like he regrets it.

Tooru stares straight ahead. “Yeah, he did.” He’s quiet for a moment. “It’s probably dead now.”

“Jesus,” Yahaba mutters. “When did you get so morbid?”

Tooru grins. “I wasn’t like this in high school, Yahaba-chan?” he leers, leaning into Yahaba’s space. Yahaba shudders and then laughs.

“You might have been,” he says, his eyes crinkling, his nose red. He’s quiet, then, “Probably. I looked up to you a lot in high school.”

“Of course you did,” Tooru says, but he wraps an arm around Yahaba’s shoulders and squeezes. “You were a pretty good captain yourself.”  

 

He’s almost forgotten about the interrogation when Yahaba says, almost casually, “Do you think you’ll get back together?”

The question is innocent, but Tooru kind of feels like someone hit him with a car. He hasn’t let himself think about it.

“No,” he says, without thinking about it more.

“Do you know for sure?”

Tooru peers up at the rain falling beyond the edge of his umbrella. “I guess not.”

Yahaba’s not giving up. “So how do you know?”

“I just have a feeling.”

It’s clear that Yahaba thinks that he’s wrong, but mercifully, he doesn’t say anything more after that.

 

Matsukawa calls him that night. Tooru pauses the X Files, cutting Scully off in the middle of a sentence, and digs his phone out from a pile of cushions. He answers the phone    
with a sense of dread. 

“You’ve been spending way too much time in your apartment,” Matsukawa says, in place of a hello.

Tooru shifts the phone to his other ear and stands, walking to his kitchen and already beginning to pace. “I’m not even going to comment on the fact that apparently I don’t deserve even a proper greeting–”

“You don’t–”

Tooru continues on, “–so I’ll have you know that I went shopping with Yahaba today. Oh! And I went out to get coffee yesterday. I even got the barista’s number.”

He hears Matsukawa snort. “Uh huh. Like you’re even planning on calling them.”

Tooru coughs. In truth, he hadn’t gotten the number so much as it had been given to him, written on the cup. (He had made brief eye contact with the barista–who was admittedly cute–before leaving.) “Of course not.”

“And ‘going to get coffee’ is not exactly the pinnacle of health. I’m not going to yell at you for having virtually no human interaction outside of your team, but you’re worrying us.”

He fingers at a loose thread on the edge of his sweatshirt. “You know, I never really thought of you and Makki as the dads of the team back when we were highschool.”

There’s a grimace in Matsukawa’s voice. “I’m way to young to be a dad.”

“Bullshit. Manager from high school already has a kid.”

“Not with me.”

Tooru laughs. “Duh. She’s out of your league.”

“Ouch.”

“Was that from you, or Makki?”

“Both,” calls Hanamaki faintly.

Tooru groans. “Am I on speaker phone?”

“It’s almost as if you don’t miss the sweet sound of my voice,” Hanamaki calls again.

“Hm, yeah, almost,” Tooru says, but he's smiling as he slides down the wall to sit on the cool tile of the kitchen floor. “Was there a point of this call? Not that I don’t enjoy making fun of my dear Mattsun–because I do, I really do–but I’m trying to finish watching the X Files before Friday.”

“You mean rewatching it?” Matsukawa says dryly.

“Of course.” Tooru peers around the counter from his spot on the floor to look at his TV, where Scully awaits.

“I still say that season one is the best,” Hanamaki says.   
“Okay listen, Makki. Just because I put up with you in highschool doesn’t mean that my love for you is uncon–”

“ _Anyway,_ ” Matsukawa interrupts. Hanamaki snickers. “We were gonna invite you to come out with us tomorrow.”

Tooru’s mood instantly drops. “I don’t know,” he hedges. “Where?” he asks, although he’s pretty sure that he already knows.

“You know, the usual place.” There’s a rustling noise, like Matsukawa is moving to another room and taking the phone with him.  

Tooru thinks back to the fiasco of the last time he tried to go out. After what seems like a long pause, he says, “I think it’s a bit of a stretch to say that I have no human interaction. I see you guys all the time.”

“First of all, what’s really a stretch is saying that we see each other all the time. I’ve barely seen you this whole month.”

Tooru groans. “I see Makki all the time, then. You two are basically interchangeable.”

“I’m not even going to begin to think of how to answer that,” Hanamaki says. “Oikawa, we’re serious.”

Tooru sighs, long and loud for their benefit. “Fine.”

“I can’t believe we’re the ones that have to pull _you_ out of your house on a weekend night.”

“Yeah, me either,” Tooru says drily, standing and heading back to his couch. “Now if you two will excuse me, I have to finish this episode.”

“Which one is it?” Hanamaki asks.

Tooru feels Matsukawa’s mood through the phone and grins. “The one with the vampire town.”

“Great episode.”

“I agree. You know–”

“Okay, bye,” Matsukawa says quickly.

‘We’ll text you details,” Hanamaki calls right before the line goes dead. Tooru tosses his phone back on the couch and pulls over a pillow to hug.

“Okay Scully,” he murmurs, reaching for the remote and unfreezing her. She resumes speaking, looking up at Mulder from her desk. The cat, sitting under the TV, watches him, her eyes reflecting the Christmas lights on the walls.

 

Tooru knows the way to the bar from his old apartment like the back of his hand, but finding it from his new place offers an uncomfortable shift in his perception of the city. He gets off at the same stop, takes the same train, but he has to take a different train line before that. It’s not the first time that Tooru has noticed his life shifting, but it’s as jarring as ever.

The paranoia hits when he’s walking up to the door. He already thought he saw Hajime once or twice on the way here, and the feeling intensifies the closer he gets to the bar. Tooru’s heart starts pounding and his stomach drops as he opens the door. He’s breathing quickly as he scans the small space, sees Hanamaki and Matsukawa, and waves to them before making a beeline for the restroom.

Tooru stares at himself in the dirty mirror for so long that he almost thinks he doesn’t recognize himself. His pupils are blown wide. _You won’t see him, you won’t see him, you won’t see him._

He leaves the bathroom. Matsukawa and Hanamaki are waiting, three beers on the table, one unopened. The metal bites into Tooru’s hands and stings as he twists the cap off and takes a swig. Matsukawa pretends to be preoccupied with his phone, but Hanamaki watches Tooru openly as he belatedly shrugs out of his coat.

Tooru sets the beer bottle down. His heart's still racing. “Sorry, sorry,” he says easily, but it doesn’t feel easy. He doesn’t offer excuses. _You won’t see him here, you won’t see him here._

Matsukawa sets his phone down on the table next to his glass. “We were starting to wonder if you drowned yourself in the toilet,” Hanamaki drawls. Under his lazy expression, there’s a layer of concern.

Tooru shrugs. _What an excellent idea._ He taps his fingers against the smooth wood of the booth table top and scans the room. His stomach is cartwheeling against the walls of his ribs, but he manages to ask about the guy he saw at their bakery. 

“Oh, God,” Hanamaki groans. “We finally fired him.”

“Finally,” Tooru says, rolling his eyes. “What, did he do something.”

“We caught him stealing,” Hanamaki says, borderline triumphant.

“Shit,” Tooru raises his eyebrows, takes another drink.

“He stole a _croissant_ , if that’s what you mean,” Matsukawa says, but he’s grinning. 

“As long as you could pin something on him.” Tooru licks the foam off his upper lip, and Hanamaki leers. _You won’t see him here._

Matsukawa rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but now Yachi has to man the counter more often. I hate doing that to her.”

Hanamaki shrugs. “We’ll find someone.”

The conversation spirals out of control from there, most of it on the topic of The X Files punctuated with Matsukawa groaning, head on the table. Tooru’s heart rate slows to normal and his tongue loosens the more he drinks, and he ends up listing to the side slightly and laughing too loud. Hanamaki gets too drunk and starts singing the X Files opening in an endless loop while Tooru giggles and Matsukawa pretends to pull his hair out.

Finally, Matsukawa, who’s had by far the least amount to drink, stands up. Hanamaki, who had been blowing raspberries into the side of his neck and is subsequently draped on him, is half dragged up. Tooru tilts his head back, grinning, watches them, until Matsukawa gently yet firmly pulls him up. Tooru fumbles with his wallet a bit, but Matsukawa pushes it back into his pocket and puts a few bills next to their scattered glasses and beer bottles.

Tooru is guided through the tables and pushed outside into the brisk night. He manages to wrestle his arms into his coat before he’s pushed into a cab. He rolls his window down and waves to Matsukawa and Hanamaki before the cab pulls away from the curb.

\---

Tooru decides to go home for the weekend. Tokyo is both too big and too small all of a sudden, and he doesn’t think that he can spend another day in the same city with Hajime and still leave the house for fear of seeing him in public.

The train ride down to Miyagi seems too quiet, because there’s no one to talk to. It’s a little ridiculous, really, because he’s gone down on his own before, but back then he would text Hajime to keep him company, and Hajime would oblige because he’s the biggest softie in Japan.  

He decides to walk home from the train station instead of calling a taxi. It had been raining the whole train ride down, and only stopped when they pulled into the station. The setting sun casts colors on the clouds in the way that only happens after a storm, and the air is heavy and cool. Tooru only has his backpack and it’s a 20 minute walk.

His parents greet him at the door. Tooru knows that they know what happened, and have guessed why he’s here, but they don’t mention it, only lead him inside to where dinner’s waiting.

It feels good to laugh again, he thinks as they’re eating. Everything still feels too loud and too quiet in his brain, thoughts eclipsed and exploding all at once, but things feel easier in the house where he grew up.  He’s been craving the unconditional love that he was sure that he had found outside of his immediate family.

He hasn't gone “camping” since he was a kid–running out into the backyard with flashlights even when the sun hadn’t set, Hajime right behind him with the bug net he always carried around when they were younger. Staying up later than their bedtime, feeling so grown up and being quiet even in the yard so their parents wouldn’t find out that they were still awake. Tooru is now sure that they knew and just let them be.

_Why did we want to be grown up?_ He wonders, spreading the blanket across the grass by the oak in the corner of his yard and sitting down. Even with his coat and several blankets, his breath billows out before him, tangible against the night air. _Even when we were reveling in being kids._ He sees vestiges of them through middle school and high school in the darkened yard, practicing new combos for the court or just laying down to watch the sky. _We were just children who thought we were gods._

Unlike Tokyo, there’s almost a complete darkness in the night. It’s one thing that he always missed from Miyagi, the way the stars would spread out across the sky like a light show just for him. As much as he was ready to get away from high school, to college and a new city, his dreams now are less about victory and more about his childhood.

And Tooru doesn't know, doesn't understand, what makes him feel this way, because it's been so long; so long since they decided to take a break, and before that since they stopped texting each other during class and calling during their lunch breaks and morning jogs and cooking dinner to go with bad movie night.

Tooru tilts his head back, follows Cepheus, king of constellations, with his eyes and then with his pointer finger. _I think_ , he realizes, _that I am the only one thinking about this still_. 

The thought isolates him. He leans back, feels the pricks of the dried grass of through the quilt, and tries and fails to seriously think about the consequences of falling asleep without protection outside.

It’s been two months. He thinks back to his parents checking in on them from the kitchen window when they were kids; the lights are still on in his house, but he doesn’t feel any less alone here in the house he grew up in than in the apartment he shares with the empty space. He drifts off–his life shifting, but the stars and ground constant around him.

\---

The train to Tokyo is better than the ride to Miyagi. Something in Tooru has shifted, and he’s content to watching the rice fields give way to city. It’s already dark by the time the train gets into the station, and Tooru takes his time getting back to his apartment, like he took his time making his way to his parent’s home.

His phone rings when he reaches his front door. He fishes for his keys and jams his cell in between his shoulder and his ear as he unlocks his door. The cat immediately jumps out at him,  making enough noise to raise the dead and sinking her claws into his foot through his shoes. Tooru yelps before he can stop himself, and Hanamaki snickers into the phone.

“Is this a bad time?” he croons.

Tooru swears. “Yeah, kind of,” he grunts, setting his backpack down with a thump and toeing his shoes off. “I want you to know that you’re the only people who call me.”

“How sad,” Hanamaki tuts. “I guess things don’t get better for everyone after high school.”

“Fuck off,” Tooru says as he straightens, but he’s in a good mood still, and it’s a more passive statement than anything.

“I know that we’re always inviting you to do stuff,” Hanamaki starts, and Tooru braces himself, “but Matsukawa wants to have a party.”

There’s a muffled noise from beyond the phone, and then Hanamaki says something, sounding distant, like he’s turned his face away from the phone. “Sorry. Not a party, a get together.”

“Mattsun really is turning into a mom,” Tooru says mildly, striding into his kitchen to feed the cat. He left her enough food and water for a few days, but she’s consumed all of it with the hunger of a pack of animals.

“At least he doesn’t go around calling himself ‘Mama Issei’,” Hanamaki shoots back, and Tooru laughs, shaking cat food into her bowl.

“Well,” Tooru says, sighing, “I can already guess who’s gonna be there.”

Hanamaki is mostly silent, and then he speaks. “You can’t avoid him forever.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Tooru says, only half joking.  He stands, puts the cat food away. Hanamaki is silent for a bit, then,

“Just come. Issei and I will be there. Ignoring each other won’t fix anything.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” Tooru says tersely, then sighs. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to push you. You don’t have to go.”

“No, I,” Tooru falters. Hanamaki isn’t wrong. He kicks at the floor slightly with one toe, and is already regretting his decision when he says, “Just tell me when.”

“We’ll have fun,” Hanamaki promises, although it seems like a command.

“Just like old times,” Tooru replies dutifully.

\---

They're out on the lawn with their beers. They're all laughing and Tooru can't help but wonder at the feeling. His heart aches but something, maybe the alcohol, maybe his friends, maybe the sunset, maybe Hajime sitting a few feet away on a lawn chair, has him feeling like there are balloons attached to his heavy shoulders.  Hajime turns to say something to Hanamaki and the sunlight hits his face in a certain way, illuminating it from the side. And oh–

_I had forgotten how beautiful he is_. 

When they’ve run out of beers Tooru and Hajime stand up at the same time to get more from the kitchen. Tooru follows Hajime into the house, which has gotten dark in the past hour.

Their aloneness feels more acute in the kitchen. No one turned on the lights when the sun was setting and twilight has cast the room in shadows. Hajime looks at him–or maybe he has been looking, maybe this moment is stretching out for both of them–and crosses the distance between them. Tooru's breath catches when he feels his hand on his cheek, like he's felt it a thousand times before. _Tell me that you love me. Tell me that you need me. Please need me as much as I need you._

Only–

He steps back, and it kills him. Hajime’s hand falls and seems to trail after him. Tooru looks away, anywhere but at the boy in front of him.

When Tooru starts to speak, his voice comes out as a whisper. He clears his throat, tries again. "Please don’t play with me.”

They’re both drunk. “What makes you think that I’m playing with you?” Hajime says, and Tooru’s throat tightens.

He shakes his head helplessly. “I haven’t seen you in over a month, Hajime.”

“That’s because–”

“You can't have it both,” Tooru interrupts, feeling like he’s finally found his voice. “You can’t touch me like that but never call me, never talk to me, never see me.”

"I wanted it to work–"

"Me too–"

"–we needed time away."

It’s too much, and Tooru can’t breathe. _I don’t know if I can trust you, at least not now._ "Why?" 

There’s a pause. Hajime grips his own hands together like they’ll keep him grounded. Tooru can tell by the set of his shoulders that he’s tense, anxious. He imagines that he looks the same.

Hajime breaks the silence.  "We had each other–for so long–I had to know who I was without you."

This hurts Tooru the most. He feels it physically–a wave of nausea rolling through him.  "Why?" He repeats, feeling like a doll, a parrot, stupid. Tooru sees from the look in Hajime’s eyes that he thinks that he doesn't understand. He presses on. "I think," he starts, then stops. Tries again. "I knew where I stood. It was next to you."

Hajime takes a step away from him, hesitates. "Maybe that was the problem. Maybe it was–"

Tooru wants to tear his hair out. "Why does everyone keep asking what the problem was? Maybe there wasn't one. Maybe you're right and it's wrong that I depend on you so much. Depended. I know it wasn't fair."

“Was it good for you, though? The space?”

Tooru thinks back through the last months. He thinks about his new apartment. He thinks about the days of depression and not being able to get out of bed no matter how loud the alarm was blaring. He thinks of trying to go to bars and crying in the taxi home. He thinks of catching up with his old friends again. He thinks of the feeling of waking up to empty sheets. He thinks about losing not only a lover, but a fixture, his best friend, a point of orbit, the sun in the middle of his solar system.

"I don't know," he says finally.  “I lost the one person I thought I would never lose.”  
He feels his throat close up and his eyes sting, a delayed reaction. _I still love you, though_.

Hajime nods. Tooru feels that the conversation is ending and tries to think of something to say to keep it going, but all he can think of is how he’s not sure he’ll ever stop loving him, ever be able to stop.

All the light is gone from their side of the earth. The shadows in the kitchen are deeper than before. Tooru thinks distantly that if they opened the fridge they wouldn't need to turn on the lights.

"Well," Tooru  says, pushing himself off the counter that he hadn't noticed he had backed into, "I think I'll go back outside."

He leaves the room empty handed. When he steps back out onto the lawn, Hanamaki and Matsukawa look as though they’ve been holding a vigil for Tooru and Hajime’s failed relationship from outside the house. They look through the darkened doorway into the house, but it’s impossible to see anything inside at this point. Tooru stares at his empty hands, then at the stars. He had forgotten to get a beer back in the kitchen.

\---

They slept together once right after they broke up. Afterwards Tooru was so disgusted with himself that he could barely look in the mirror–not because the act of sex with Hajime was wrong, or that he hadn’t enjoyed it, but because it was so obvious to him that Hajime wasn’t in love with him anymore, and Tooru was just grasping at straws until he happened to pull one. The guilt consumed him and he spent hours on the floor of the bathroom after he threw up. He had always worked himself into moods that made him physically sick, and by the time Hajime came home, Tooru was shivering with fever. It was Hajime who brought him wet wash clothes for his forhead and soup, and brought blankets and medicine and interrupted Tooru’s litany of self hatred.

It was Hajime that Tooru couldn’t bear to look at, Hajime that Tooru pushed away, until he retreated to the couch. Soon after Tooru recovered enough to stand, he gathered his essentials and moved to Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s apartment.

\---

Tooru wakes up very hungover. It doesn’t help that the cat is sitting on his pillow, making noise. His headache is punctuated by her near yowls for food, and it’s hard to breathe because she’s sitting half  on his chest. He tries to throw a pillow at her, misses, counts to three, sits up. She digs her claws in as she slips down his chest. “You’re the worst,” he says, wincing at the effect that his voice has on his headache. He shouldn’t be this hungover after a few beers with his friends, but he remembers drinking more after Hanamaki had driven him home.

He feels like he’s on autopilot as he gets up, gets a glass of water and aspirin, and feeds the cat. Tooru feels better by noon, and thanks some higher deity that it’s his off day. The sky was overcast when he woke up, and it’s started to rain lightly.

"I think I understand," he says to his apartment later, staring out the window again. "What he was saying–about finding out who we were before each other–it hurt, but I understand." He paces his living room, almost trips over that one corner of carpet that always sticks up. The cat watches him move, seemingly disinterested, from the couch. She blinks as he sits down next to her, pets her, then drags his hands through his hair.

But..."I'm not sure that it's possible," he says to no one at all. "Because we've been together for so long." Practically out of the crib. Everything that he is, he realizes, has always been somehow connected to Hajime. But more than that–even when they were at their closest, even at the peak of their relationship, Tooru never felt himself a part of a singular entity that they had become. The two were intertwined, but distinct. They’ve revolved around each other, but they were always their own planets.

\---

It happens again as Tooru is laying on his couch watching sunlight reflect around his kitchen. The door knocks, and Hanamaki is standing there when Tooru hauls himself up and answers it.

“God, what the fuck Hanamaki?” he says, incredulous. “Are you stalking me now?”

“You need a job,” Hanamaki says.

“And you need a life other than being my parole officer, apparently.” Tooru goes back inside and Hanamaki follows. “I have a job.”

“You need a job that isn’t volleyball. You need to get out of this apartment and go somewhere other than the gym.” Hanami takes a seat on his couch, leaving Tooru few other choices then to join him. He does, sinking back into the couch cushions.

“Are you my mom? This is feeling awfully familiar,” he gripes.

“Yeah, whatever. Anyway...Issei and I were thinking–”

“Are you going to make me work in your bakery?”

Hanamaki grins. “We just fired that one guy, so…”

“No. I’m too busy as it is.”

“Liar. I know you have too much time on your hands.”

“You know,” Tooru starts, trying to get him off course, “your house is pretty far away from mine. You’re wasting an awful amount of time on me.”

“I agree,” Hanamaki says conversationally. “If it weren’t for that fact that I’m your friend and Issei lets me take time off to come out here, I definitely wouldn't do it.”

“Thanks,” Tooru deadpans, then sighs. There’s a long pause, in which Hanamaki maintains eyecontact.

“Fine! Fine,” Tooru says finally, standing and throwing his hands up in defeat. “I swear if it distracts from my team, I’m quitting.”

Hanamaki smirks. “Don’t worry. We won’t give you a ton of hours.”

Hanamaki has him work at the counter because he’s charming and good with people. And he is, to the point where Hanamaki is both pissed and happy because there’s more business after word gets out that “there’s a pretty guy working at that bakery.” Matsukawa thinks it’s funny and rests his head on Hanamaki and makes fun of of both of them.

Tooru likes wearing an apron and he likes talking to people. When he was younger he used to flirt with high school girls, but now it’s like he can’t help but flirt with everyone who looks decently attractive and around his age. He’s always been like this, wanted to please, and after he realized from a young age that a smile was usually all it took, the habit never really went away.  It makes him inwardly cringe but at the same time, he takes comfort in the fact that nothing will come from this, only simple interaction.  Girls (and boys) give him their numbers and he smiles, doesn’t call. Hanamaki groans about how he’s “ruining the image” of his bakery and Matsukawa laughs and Yachi looks slightly terrified all the time and–

_This is nice, isn’t it?_

“Can you believe this?” he complains to the bakery one day, slumping over the counter.  “I’m working for my best friend from high school. It’s tragic really.”

“I’m older than you,” Hanamaki calls out from the office in the back, where he’s doing paperwork.

“Not by much,” Tooru mutters, burying his head in his arms. The shop is empty except for Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Yachi, and Tooru.

“Oikawa-san…” Yachi says, looking concerned. Tooru turns his head to look at her. She gets herself so worked up that he would almost think it’s cute, if he didn’t see it in himself (he’s just much better at hiding it.) Still, there’s something magnetic that he finds about her–like he can’t help but want to tuck her under his metaphorical wing.

Tooru works three days a week at the bakery. It’s enough to keep him busy in between volleyball practices and the silence of his bedroom. He works all of his shifts with Yachi and Kiyoko. They both work in the kitchen, but Kiyoko sometimes works up front during Tooru’s breaks, and Yachi designs their menus and website and storefront signs. Kiyoko doesn’t talk to him much, but Tooru learns that Yachi is fresh out of college with a degree in graphic design, and got this job through a weird chain of mutual friends in volleyball. “And,” she says, her cheeks dusted with flour, and her hair pulled back, “because I love to bake. I love graphic design and I love my mom, but people can have more than one passion, can’t they?”

Tooru nods, but he’s thinking about his obsession with volleyball that he thinks will never end. “I, for one, will always love aliens, no matter what people say about my career.”

Yachi shakes her head, causing a chunk of hair to come loose from her ponytail. “I still don’t know how you manage to be on a team and still work here.”

Tooru steals a glob of cookie dough that she’s working on. “Believe it or not, I don’t do much else.”

Yachi turns red. “Oikawa-san, you know you’re not supposed to eat that!” Tooru flashes a peace sign, swallows, and ducks out of the kitchen with a “See ya, Ya-chan!”

“I can’t believe you’re harassing someone as sweet as Yachi.”

Tooru jumps. Hanamaki is standing by the door to the kitchen, shaking his head sadly.

Tooru places his hand against his heart in mock offense. “I can’t believe you would think that of me.” He leans in slightly. “We were having a heart to heart.”

Hanamaki makes a face. “How sweet.”

 

It’s slow at the bakery when Matsukawa comes out of the office to talk to Tooru over the counter.

“Hiro and I thought it would be nice for all of us to get together again.” He doesn’t have to elaborate that Hajime will be there. Tooru keeps his face blank, and Matsukawa continues. “It was nice last time.”

Tooru leans forward onto the counter. “Not to be rude, Mattsun, but it wasn’t the best for me.”

Matsukawa rolls his eyes. “Talking to each other was fun. We can’t just pretend that high school didn’t happen.” _We can’t just pretend that Iwaizumi was never our friend to begin with._ The thought lies between them, as obvious as if a corpse was stretched out on the bakery counter, above the macarons and croissants. 

_I’m being selfish. I’m being stupid._ He straightens. “You should invite Yahaba.” He pauses.  “And Yachi and people from work too.”

\---

It’s the same sort of scene as last time–the sun is setting, and they’re all out on lawn chairs with drinks and spring jackets.  Almost everyone is nursing a beer. Hanamaki, Matsukawa, Yachi, Kiyoko, and Tooru had all piled into the van after work and helped to set out food in the kitchen and ice the beers before everyone else came over. Yahaba brought Kyoutani, and then some of Yachi’s high school friends show up, almost in tandem with some of the other staffers from the bakery. Hajime shows up somewhere in the middle of this. Tooru’s chest has the familiar warm ache in it, but he’s able to ignore it easier now that it’s an actual party, and not just the four of them. He gets tipsy almost quickly, and along with that, giggly. When the sun has completely set, it takes the last warmth of day with it, and people start heading inside. Yachi and Kiyoko had headed in sometime before, and everyone follows, taking their drinks with them.

At one point, Tooru steps out to take a look at the stars–he doesn’t get to see them from his apartment–and he sees Hajime out in the cold, standing next to the house and blowing on his hands to warm them.

It’s a complete reversal of what happened last time–everyone inside, and them out in the cold.  Hajime sees him before he can leave, and makes the trek across the yard, frost crunching under his sneakers. Tooru is acutely aware that this is they haven’t been alone since their conversation in the kitchen, almost a month ago.

When Hajime opens his mouth to say something, Tooru cuts him off swiftly. “If you ask me what I’ve been up to, I might be facing 25 years to life in prison.”

Hajime’s mouth quirks a little. “I won’t,” he promises,.

Tooru shrugs. “I’m sure you’re dying to know, though,” he says, “so I’ll tell you. Work, vollyball, work, volleyball.”

Hajime nods. “Yeah, Maki mentioned that you’re working at the bakery.”

Tooru grins. “I do have a flair for customer service.”

Okay. So maybe he’s a little more than tipsy at this point–but Hajime is _talking_ to him, and there isn’t any messy baggage in the way this time. Because they’re friends now. 

“I was actually heading out,” Hajime says after a pause. “I have class tomorrow,” he offers by way of explanation. Tooru nods, and follows as Hajime turns and walks to the curb, stopping in front of a car he doesn’t recognize.

“You have a _car?_ ” Tooru asks, incredulous. 

“Oh. Yeah, I bought it a little over a month ago.”

“Lucky,” Tooru breathes. “I’d love to be able to drive home on a cold day. Wait,” he says, suddenly worried. “Are you going to be okay to drive?”

“I didn’t really drink anything.”

“Oh, okay,” Tooru says, relieved. It’s so nice to be talking like this, with Hajime, just the two of them. It’s almost how they were when they were friends in college.

“How’s your new place?” Hajime asks.

Tooru brightens. “Oh, it’s so nice. Hiro helped me decorate it–I think you’d like it. It’s very _me._ It’s got carpet in the living room, but some things can’t be helped.” He’s struck with a thought.  “You should come visit me sometime, Iwa-chan,” he breathes excitedly. The nickname slips out, but neither of them take notice, even though he hasn’t used it in years.

Hajime smiles a little. “I don’t have your address.”

Tooru laughs a little, roots around in his pocket before finding a crumpled bit of paper. “Do you have a pen?”

Hajime passes one over, and Tooru leans over the hood of his car, the cold metal biting into his exposed hands as he scrawls out his address. “It’s on the same train line as our old apartment,” he says, “and you have to come visit me sometime.” He pokes Hajime in the chest. “Because we’re _friends_ now. And that’s what friends do. They _visit._ ”

Hajime laughs a lot this time, and unlocks the door of his car. “I will.”

“Whenever,” Tooru says.

“I will,” Hajime repeats, and then steps into his car, pulls the door shut, and pulls away from the street. Tooru waves as he drives away, and then trudges into the house.

They’d really only had a short conversation outside, and things are still going on inside the house. Some of Yachi’s friends are playing beer pong in the kitchen, and Hanamaki is taking part, which really says something about how drunk he is. Yachi and Kiyoko are talking on the couch, and other than the crowing coming from the kitchen, the house is full of background music and pleasantly muted conversations. Tooru steps over some stretched out legs and searches the front rooms until he finds Matsukawa watching the spectacle in the kitchen fondly, a drink in his hand.

“Issei,” Tooru says, and he looks over.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

Tooru nods. “I don’t think I can make it home. Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Of course. Do you need to sleep now?”

He shakes his head. “Later.”

And when it’s later, when almost everyone has left and Tooru has done his best to help clean up, Matsukawa leads him to the tiny guest room and leaves him with a pile of blankets and a glass of water.

\---

There’s a knock at the door while Tooru is vacuuming (a house warming gift from Yahaba a while back, or he’d probably just sweep). He’s humming when he opens it, but stops abruptly when he sees Hajime on his doorstep. _Shit._ He abruptly remembers the invitation he extended to Hajime to see his new place, whenever, because they’re friends now. Right. 

His first thought is to just tell Hajime that this is a bad time. He’s pissed when his heart jumps in his chest at the sight of him standing there in his spring jacket. They’re cool now, he thinks at himself–or they should be. Things are actually okay for once, and he doesn’t need Hajime to mess up the delicate balance that he’s found between his volleyball and work and his cat.

He’s wondering if the zero gravity feeling will ever go away around Hajime when Hajime clears his throat and Tooru realizes that they’ve just been standing there.

“Hi,” Tooru says, his usual graces leaving him. He’s suddenly conscious of his cleaning clothes; sweat pants and an Area 51 shirt and his bangs pinned back with little flower shaped barrettes. Not that Hajime hasn’t seen this side of him, but. Still.

“Hi,” Hajime says back, equally as awkward. “Can I come in?”

Tooru nods. “I got a cat," he says, to try to take control of the conversation, but feeling stupid. Hajime crosses the threshold, and Tooru closes the door behind him. He watches Hajime look around his living room and feels something ache because he looks so natural here, but at the same time like he's from a past life. His hands itch to hold, to touch hair and cheeks and smooth the wrinkles out of his shirt, so he jams them in his pockets.

"Oh yeah?" Hajime says, stepping forward to the couch to scratch the cat under her chin. "What's its name?"

Tooru flounders, takes inspiration from a poster he has framed above his TV. "Scully," he says quickly, and instantly regrets it from the way that Hajime turns around.

The loud laughter surprises him. "Scully? You named your cat Scully?"

Tooru feels his cheeks grow warm and curses his face for betraying him. "Um."

“Please tell me you didn’t inflict your alien obsession on this poor cat.”

Tooru is distracted by Hajime’s laugh for more than a second, but tries to compose himself and adjusts brushes some hair behind his ear in what he hopes is an airy manner. “So? It’s my cat, Hajime. I can name it what I want.”

This seems to mean more than Tooru meant it to, because Hajime quiets, pets the cat again, and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Hm.” Tooru gives himself a second. “Well, Hajime, you’re in my apartment, so what can I do to help you?”

Hajime is silent, continues to pet the cat almost absentmindedly. Tooru’s waiting to fill the silence–he’s uncomfortable with him here, off balance–when–

“You know, I was surprised that you kept calling me Hajime.  No one else has ever called me that but my parents.”

It throws him off but he itches to reply. Tooru hates himself for asking, “No girlfriends or boyfriends, even?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m not going to go back to calling you Iwa-chan. We’re not in high school anymore.”

“No, we’re not.”

Tooru is starting to feel uncomfortable for the first time in his life that he’s doing most of the talking. “Look, Hajime, what do you want. Closure? Because I’m really trying to move on.”

And–Tooru realizes that it’s true. Not that he wants to move on, but that he might be ready to do so.

He wonders how long he can hold his breath before Hajime looks at him.

“I just want–”

He can’t–he can’t let him finish that sentence–because he’s spent _so long_ trying to understand what happened and he’s sure that whatever Hajime says will shatter it in an instant. 

He can’t afford to lose his footing now. _So much for trying to keep things balanced._ Tooru can’t seem to speak clearly when he says, “I wish you wouldn’t say that.” 

Hajime looks taken aback. “Why?”

_Fuck it._ “Because I still love you. And I can’t keep pretending that I don’t care about you.” 

It feels strangely foreign to say the words out loud, when he’s wanted to say that he does for so long.

“I thought–”

‘That I don’t? Or that I don’t love you anymore?” He’s almost crying. “I’ve loved you my whole life, Hajime. I’m not going to stop because you stopped feeling the same way.” His body shudders with it’s next breath. He won’t cry. He won’t.

Hajime takes a step forward. He could step back into him now, Tooru thinks. He could start over. He could have what he wanted, when it all ended– pretend like nothing ever went wrong.

But.

Tooru opens his mouth, and Hajime falters in his movement. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last time. When we were in the kitchen.”

Hajime’s frozen. It’d be almost comical if Tooru’s chest didn’t hurt so much. “What?”

“You said you didn’t know who you are without me.” He finds Hajime’s eyes. “I’ve known you for so long, and I know that you’ve always known who you are. And–” Hajime opens his mouth, but Tooru presses on. “–I know who I am. You just want a reason because you can’t face that idea that we just broke up.”

“That’s not–”

“It is,” Tooru says. “I love you, Hajime, but we don’t work anymore. We didn’t for a long time.”

For once, he thinks Hajime might cry. His eyes have gone glassy. The pull to go to him is stronger than ever–it’s been there since he was three.

“And–” his throat is thick, he has to pause,  “–we can’t–we won’t work if we just try again right now.”

It feels like a break up. It feels like release. When he hugs Hajime tightly, like he’s wanted to all these months, it feels like goodbye. And there’s a certain finality, too, in the click of the door when it closes behind Hajime.


	2. Chapter 2

 

_I love you and I always will and I am sorry. What a useless word._

_—Earnest Hemingway, The Garden of Eden_

 

 

On the train ride home, Hajime keeps his gaze firmly on his reflection in the window opposite him. He looks tired, he thinks. He didn't used to look this tired. 

It's a short enough walk from his stop to his apartment, and he's unlocking his door before he realizes that he doesn't remember arriving.

Tadashi is sitting on the couch watching an American TV show, wrist deep in a bowl of popcorn. His head turns towards the door but his eyes stay glued to the screen as Hajime enters. The way he's stuffing his face would be almost comical if Hajime didn't feel like he needed to take a nap that lasted 20 years, or just never ended. 

"How'd it go," Tadashi says, or attempts to say, around the popcorn. 

Hajime shrugs before he realizes that Tadashi isn't actually watching him. "Ok," he says, taking his jacket off and throwing it onto the couch. It hits the bowl of popcorn, and Tadashi yelps when it spills all over his leg. He twists around to get a look at Hajime, who's moved on to the kitchen. 

"That bad, huh?" 

"What should we have for dinner?" Hajime muses. "I'm thinking....like, crackers." 

"I can't believe you want to be a doctor," Tadashi says, rolling his eyes. 

"Physicians have the highest rates of suicide out of any profession," Hajime reminds him, "so I think I'm doing ok. And besides," he says, opening the pantry and rooting around for the saltines, "I want to be a physical therapist." Like he doesn't already know. 

"Uh huh, and none of that has to do with nutrition," Tadashi says sarcastically, right as a woman shrieks from the tv. He twists back around and absently eats popcorn from the seat of the couch. 

"What are you watching," Hajime says, finally finding the box. Pulling out a sleeve of the crackers, he makes his way to the couch, shoves his jacket to the floor, and sits down. He can feel popcorn pressing into the back of his legs. Gross. 

"The Bachelor. It's an American reality tv show where it's socially acceptable for one guy to date 20 women." He takes a moment to consider. “There’s The Bachelorette, though, so that might make it not as bad. Or worse.”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. "If I knew that you were gonna be watching this shit I would have never let you move in." 

It's mostly untrue. When Tooru had moved out, Tadashi, another grad student, happened to be at one of his old professor’s parties and looking for a roommate. It’s an odd sort of coincidence; moving in with a guy from a team you played against in high school, nearly eight years later, but Hajime has long since learned not to underestimate the extent to which high school volleyball has shaped his life.

So a month and a half later, when all was said and done, and all Tooru’s alien posters were long gone, Tadashi had moved into the second bedroom that had been only storage space since Hajime’s second year in college. It doesn't sting, not really–with another person, the apartment feels less empty–but there's still the odd feeling that he's stepped into a parallel universe where Tooru isn't more than 5 minutes away from him at most times. 

It might as well be, though, because it's been months but Hajime still isn't used to not being able to pinpoint where Tooru is. It's been a long time since someone's asked, and even if they did he wouldn't be able to give a straight answer. He doesn't know exactly what Tooru does these days. 

_Work, volleyball, work, volleyball._

So. It's not empty. And if the air feels a little stale sometimes, well, it's something that he has to live with.

 

\---

 

In the dream he’s waking up in their old bed, in what used to be their shared apartment. It’s a memory, but Hajime can’t tell how old it is because it could have happened four years ago or four months ago. He has his bed against the windows, and in the morning, the sun illuminated the pillows, would turn the edges of Tooru gold and highlight the faint freckles he has on his nose. Hajime’s first instinct when waking up, in those days, was to hook an arm around Tooru’s waist and bring him closer, drop his nose into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

He’s been searching for him all these years, before they got together, and after they’ve broken up.

(Sometimes, he still reaches his arm out, before he’s fully awake, but he doesn’t find anything but sheets.)

Dream-Tooru groans, but allows Haijme to nuzzle against his skin. Tooru’s not a morning person, but in the dream he opens his eyes enough to pull Hajime away a little and smile at him, before shutting them again.

It’s the kind of simple thing that Hajime never took for granted, but they have more weight to them now that he knows that they’re never going to happen again.

Waking up from that feels like a kick to the chest, and Hajime can’t stay in the bed any longer than it takes for him to register the darkness in his room and the blanket kicked down to his feet.  

He woke early–the sun hasn’t risen yet, and the clock on his bedside table reads 4:19. Tadashi primarily takes night classes, and is undoubtedly sleeping soundly in the room next door. Without really making any decisions, Hajime pulls on a shirt and sweats. His running shoes are by the door, and he pads through the apartment to pull them on.

It’s getting to be warmer in the afternoon, but the mornings are still cold. Hajime only regrets not bringing a jacket for a moment before he’s off, jogging down the street and to his favorite park, where he does lap after lap on the gravel path that’s laid in a circle through the trees. The cold air bites into his lungs and his hot skin, but he watches the sun rise until it’s sitting low into the sky and other joggers joining him. Hajime only stops when his legs feel like they won’t be able to support him any longer, and he stumbles to a walk. He had almost sprinted the last mile, and he can already feel the phantom pains of tomorrow’s ache.

He and Tooru used to go on morning runs–not at this park; they preferred to run through the city, stop to get breakfast, and maybe take the train back. It was their own version of a breakfast date, intertwined with their athletic history that Hajime clung too, even when volleyball ended for him after his undergrad years.

And, god, if you asked him, he couldn't say what he had been thinking. Hajime doesn't need to be a genius to know that going to your ex's apartment via drunk invitation is a bad thing.   
But he _wanted_ to, wanted to see him. He can't tell if it's a romantic craving or a platonic one, but they've known each other over for longer than two decades now, and it feels wrong to not have Tooru in his life right now.   
Hajime doesn't know what he expected, but he can't say he's surprised by the outcome. It sits heavy in his stomach–it's the first thing he remembers when he wakes up–the simple absence of Tooru that's affecting him more than he thought it would.

 

**\---**

 

**From: Mattsun**

you left your scarf at our house

**To: Mattsun**

shit. can I swing by later this week?

**From: Mattsun**

just come to the bakery. its closer

**To: Mattsun**

is oikawa working today?

**From: Mattsun**

he shouldn’t be

**To: Mattsun**

ill come by.

 

\---

 

Matsukawa _said_ he wouldn’t be there _,_ but as Hajime approaches the bakery, he sees the telltale almost-curls of Tooru’s hair resting on the counter. He’s laying his head there or something, and he’s let his hair grow longer than it had been when they broke up, something Hajime had noted when he visited his apartment.

Hajime freezes the moment he sees him, and his legs automatically turn and try to steer him away from the store. What’s a scarf anyway, he’ll just buy a new one, but–he’s already in front of the windows, and he’s stepping forward, opening the door that jingles. He wishes that it didn’t, that he could just go quietly to the back without Tooru noticing.

But he does notice. Tooru lifts his head from his pillowed arms, limbs unfolding as he straightens. The look he gives Hajime is stunned for a half second, then–wary, almost. “Hello,” he says cautiously.

Hajime steps closer to the counter, and it’s so _easy_ to slip back into old habits because he says, “Asleep on the job?”

Tooru almost pouts, so he knows he’s not the only one that’s finding it hard not to slip. He sniffs instead. “I wouldn’t really call it _work_ if no one’s here.”

It’s true–the bakery is empty except for the two of them, excepting the kitchen staff and Matsukawa in the office.

“Well–I didn’t know you’d be ‘working’ right now,” Hajime says, making air quotes with his fingers.

Tooru refrains from pointing out the obvious–that _obviously_ Hajime didn’t know, or he wouldn’t have come–and jerks a thumb back towards the office. “You can just go back there. I know you.”

Hajime doesn’t linger on that throw away line– _I know you_ –and makes his way down the short hallway and into the office.

The look Matsukawa gives Hajime as he steps into the small office is apologetic–to say the least.

“I honestly thought he wouldn’t be working, but he picked up Yachi’s shift last minute and I didn’t check the updated schedule until–”

“It’s fine,” Hajime cuts him off, sinking into the armchair in front of their desk. “Don’t worry about it.”

Matsukawa shrugs, but Hajime knows it’s still weighing on him. Still, he pulls one of the drawers open and pulls out Hajime’s scarf, hands it over. Hajime takes it, but all he can think of the last time he wore it; at the party, when they talked like they used to. _One of us has to be smashed,_ he thinks wryly.

Stuffing the scarf in his jacket pocket with one hand, Hajime gestures to Matsukawa’s laptop. “Are you actually working right now?”

“Nope,” Matsukawa says easily. “I’m watching a drama.” He turns the computer around to show Hajime, and Hajime wonders for a brief second why everyone in his life is spending their time watching terrible TV.

He mentions it to Matsukawa. He shrugs, turns the computer around. “Does this have to do with your roommate?”

“Tadashi’s hooked on some American show,” Hajime says, by way of explanation.

Matsukawa hums. “How's he doing, anyway?”

Hajime settles into the chair. “Good. He's always bitching about his thesis but it wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't watching reality TV all the time.”

“And I'm sure no one says anything about your love of crappy movies,” Matsukawa mutters around his hand.

Hajime feigns indifference. “I don't know what you mean.”

“You genuinely thought that that newer American Godzilla movie was good.”

“It's not _bad_.”

“The characters are awful.”

“The effects are good.”

“Oh, my _God_ I cannot argue the merits of every piece of American film,” Matsukawa says, dragging his hands down his face suddenly and dramatically. “I already have to listen to Hiro and Oikawa discuss the finer points of the X Files.”

“The X Files isn't a bad show either,” Hajime says, realizing too late that he's mostly coming to its defense for Tooru’s sake.

“Not you too,” Matsukawa says. “I'm going to brain myself on this desk if I have to listen to the opening song one more time.”

Hajime probably said the same thing a year or two ago, because Tooru doesn't have boundaries when it comes to binge watching shows in the living room. Hajime’s seen shows that he never would have otherwise just by living in his apartment and dating Oikawa Tooru.

Hajime’s a bit–distracted the rest of the week. He manages to stay on track during class, but he finds himself zoning out during homework or dinner or at the gym.

 _I know you_ , his brain supplies, just when he think’s he’s moved on from seeing Tooru.  

He’s been running more at the park now that it’s warm enough to work out outside. Hajime’s always loved pushing himself past his limits, and running keeps his brain quiet.

It’s just that–it’s been a long time since he saw Tooru when they weren’t breaking up or drunk or having deep conversations. It was a meaningless exchange; he probably saw him for a collective five minutes. But– _I know you_.

Hajime knows that Tooru didn’t mean anything by it, which makes it even more frustrating, because he just can’t let it go. _I know you_.

It takes until the end of the week for Hajime to realize _why_ he can’t let it go. He knows Tooru–which feels like an obvious revelation, until Hajime thinks about how there might be a day where he _doesn’t_ know him anymore, and a day where Tooru doesn’t know him back.  

It’s like how he can’t just call him Oikawa anymore; he can’t just see him as someone that isn’t a part of his life. He’s known Tooru for over two decades. Even if it isn’t in a romantic sense, he can’t imagine not knowing him for the next two, either.

 

\---  


Dialing the number on his phone feels like a countdown to death. Hajime holds the phone in his hand while it rings, but when it picks up, he brings it up to his ear.

“What’s up,” Hanamaki says.

Hajime ignores the anxiety building in his stomach. “Hey,” he says, then, “When does To–When does Oikawa work?”

There’s a silence on the phone for so long that Hajime is afraid Hanamaki just hung up on him, but when he checks, the call is still going. He counts three breaths before Hanamaki finally says, “Why?”

Hajime breathes out. “I need to talk to him about something.”

“Can’t you text him?”

“No.”

Hanamaki sighs. “Last week you made sure that Oikawa _wasn’t_ working when you came in. Why do you want to see him now?”

“Look, Hanamaki–” Hajime says, before he realizes that he’s not really sure what he’s going to say. _I just want a face to face interaction? I just want to talk to him again? I’m tired of losing him?_

“Listen,” Hanamaki says, yanking Hajime back to the conversation. “I’m not going to give you his schedule because legally, I’m not even allowed to do that. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. But,” he pauses, “he works this Tuesday.”

Hajime realizes that he’s been holding his breath. “Thank you,” he says.

“Text him yourself next time. If you weren’t my best friend I’d be creeped out. I honestly kind of am,” Hanamaki says wearily. Then, “Don’t fuck things up with him. Don’t fuck with his head.” The line goes dead.

 

\---

 

This time, when Hajime goes to the bakery, he knows that he’s going to see Tooru there. His steps are lighter when he sees Tooru through the windows, but his shoulders are heavier.

When Tooru sees Hajime, he doesn’t betray any emotion–his face shutters immediately.

Hajime walks to the counter. “Are you here for me, or an eclair?” Tooru says lightly, carefully. Hajime tries not to think about Tooru is the last person he thought would feel like walking on eggshells around him, but he still feels it in the way his chest tightens.

“No, I,” Hajime says, his heart beating a quick tempo against his ribs. “Can I talk to you?”

Tooru looks a little uncomfortable, a little pained. “I’m on the clock,” he says.

Hajime glances around the empty bakery. “Just a few minutes.”

The look Tooru gives him is unreadable, which is somewhat startling to Hajime, because he thought he knew all of Tooru’s expressions, even his blank ones. He was so used to peeling back his layers, but now it feels like ten new ones have grown in his absence.

After a length, Tooru nods, reaching back to untie his apron and pull it off. Hajime follows him out the bakery, down the sidewalk a bit and out of sight from the inside of the store.

Tooru jams his hands in his pockets, and Hajime does recognize this–it’s what Tooru does when he’s unsure of himself, when he can’t trust his hands.

“So, Hajime, what can I do for you?” Tooru says lightly, echoing what he said in his apartment, weeks ago.

And Hajime feels it, feels how he’s just chasing Tooru when Tooru just wants to move on–or maybe, trying to. But he can’t let him go, and yeah, it’s selfish. But.

Hajime kicks at the ground, scuffing the toe of his sneakers. He keeps remembering stupid things all the time, like how Tooru was with him when he bought them.

“I just wanted to apologize,” Hajime hears himself say. “And I know–I know I could have texted you, or whatever. I’m sorry if this is worse for you, but I couldn’t stand it if we drifted apart any more.” He pulls his jacket more tightly around himself. “I know I fucked things up, but I don’t want to stop talking to you.”

He really wants to say that he misses Tooru, but he remembers Hanamaki’s warning. _Don’t fuck with his head._

He takes a deep breath. “It’s just–you were right. You _are_ right.”

Tooru’s quiet. His face has shuttered even more, but Hajime doesn’t think it’s to keep him out–more likely that it’s to keep himself in.

“Thanks, Hajime,” Tooru says quiety. He’s not quite looking at him–more like his forehead, or over his head. “I want to be your friend again. But I don’t think I can see you for a while.”

Tooru can’t quite hide how his voice is shaky, and even though all of Hajime’s instincts are to go to him, to comfort him, to not be the one causing this, he keeps his distance and only nods. “Okay.”

“Thanks,” Oikawa says again, and then he turns around, and goes back inside.

Hajime doesn’t bother following him, only turns, heads down the hill and back to the train stop.

And he's doing it all over again--He goes to try and clear things up, and he sees Tooru but it doesn't go the way he wanted it to, and then he takes the train home and stares at his face in the glass and wonders what the hell is wrong with him.

It's not a bad thing, really, but sometimes it feels like he's chasing and Tooru’s running, only Hajime doesn't blame him at all. It's perfectly within his rights.

Hajime isn't above admitting that he misses Tooru, only there's no one to admit it _to._

 

\---

 

Hajime wishes he was a more patient person. He’s not on his toes, waiting, exactly, but every day that passes is another reminder that nothing has happened between him and Tooru.

He isn't sure what he's waiting for really, because it's not like they signed a contract that stated what they would do if they wanted to talk to each other again. All Hajime knows is that he can't make the first move. He's careful to give Tooru space, because it's what he wants. It's what's best.

Tadashi’s out at lunch with a friend when Hajime’s phone chimes. He’s studying alone in the living room and expects it to be from a classmate–the end of the grading period is coming up and there's a paper worth 30% of their grade due at the end of the week–but when he checks his phone, it's Tooru’s name that's lighting up the screen.

 

**From: Tooru**

**My shift is ending soon, we can talk.**

 

It’s missing the usual emoji and enthusiasm that Hajime is used to, but he stands, knees cracking, and texts out a quick response. He's got class tonight but at this point, he's either ready for the quiz he's not.

He is, he thinks. Probably.

Hajime’s putting his shoes on before he can think about it. It's just like Tooru, he thinks, to expect Hajime to fit around his schedule.

Except. Tooru’s a lot less selfish than Hajime’s always made him out to be.

_Distance._

When Hajime gets to the bakery, there's actually people there, waiting in line to buy bread or enjoying pastries on some of the small tables up against the windows. A small girl is manning the counter. Hajime looks around for a bit before spotting Tooru coming down the hallway leading to the office. Hajime follows him to a table, and sits, unsure and unsteady.

It sort of feels like a date, but the last date, rather than the first; awkward and borderline painful.

Tooru looks well, Hajime thinks distantly, because he looks a little less tired than he did when Hajime saw him last, and he's gotten his hair trimmed somewhat. He seems healthier, more alive.

Tooru pulls on his fingers before dropping his hands into his lap, and then he sighs gustily and meets Hajime’s eyes across the table.

“Sorry,” he says. “We got a new practice schedule so I thought today would be best.”

“It's fine,” Hajime says automatically, wondering if he ever would have been upset. The whole thing feels oddly formal, so far, and he's not really sure what to say so he doesn't.

“I want,” Tooru starts, falters. “I want us to–hang out, but I don’t…” he trails off, and Hajime can hear his unspoken words: _I don’t know that there’s anything I can do with you that isn’t painful_.

"I mean," Hajime says after a pause, somewhat helplessly, "we could go running?" 

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Tooru says, and Hajime can tell he's thinking of their breakfast dates. 

"Not–like that," Hajime says. "There's a park near the apartment–" _that we never went to together_ "–and there's a gravel path. We could go in the morning, or something." 

He can tell that Tooru’s going to say no, so he says, "Look, forget it. I know you're not a morning person, anyway." 

Tooru freezes and Hajime mentally kicks himself, because that throw away line is too close to the truth: that Hajime _knows_ Tooru, that no matter how much they step around each other, he can’t forget the little things. 

"Look, I," Tooru starts, and then, "We can do that. Running." 

Hajime can't tell from the expression on Tooru’s face if he regrets saying that or not, but he nods anyway and tries not to let it show on his face that he's relieved. 

"Great. Can we do...5? On Tuesday?" 

Tooru wrinkles his nose. "Five? AM?" He sighs. "Yeah, that's fine." 

"Great," Hajime says again. "Um...I'll text you the address." 

"Okay," Tooru says, and the conversation is over. Hajime leaves the bakery not sure if this is a good thing, or a bad thing.   


\----

  


Hanamaki and Matsukawa invite Hajime over to their house again. Hajime is afraid, for a moment, that it’s all some sort of setup and Tooru will be there, but when he gets there, the sun is low on the horizon, and there’s only Matsukawa and Hanamaki sitting on their porch steps with an unopened beer next to them.

Hajime sits next to him, taking the beer and twisting the cap off. They watch the sunset, drink their beers. Hanamaki and Matsukawa fill the space talking about weird customers and Hajime talks about the guy that’s driving him crazy in one of his classes.

Tooru somehow gets brought up, and Hajime manages to stay afloat as Hanamaki talks about how well he’s doing at the bakery.

“We’re running together on Tuesday,” Hajime says, because he feels like it should be said. Hanamaki and Matsukawa look at him, sort of considering, before looking at each other.

It’s the sort of coupley thing that drives Hajime crazy, because he feels like he’s missing out on a punchline he didn’t even get to hear the joke to, but he knows that he and Tooru were worse. So.

“I don’t know if you should be seeing him right now,” Hanamaki says, after taking a sip of his beer. “It feels too soon.”

Hajime stares down the neck of his beer bottle. “It wouldn’t matter if I waited three months or three years; I’m never going to be completely over him.” He sighs. “It is a terrible idea, though.”

Matsukawa speaks. “Why?”

Hajime shrugs, keeps his shoulders hunched so that his scarf is covering his chin. “He’s right. We can’t sort anything out unless we have distance. But I don’t– _want_ distance. I’m never going to move on if we hang out, but it’s worse to just pretend we didn’t know each other in the first place. He was my best friend.”

“Do you want to get back together?” Matsukawa ventures. Hanamaki shoots him a look, but Hajime ignores it.

“It doesn’t feel fair to think of it like that,” Hajime says, tracing the rim of his beer with his thumb. “It makes it feel like he’s just my ex.” Tooru’s always been a lot more than that.

Hajime isn’t going to lie to himself and say that he _hasn’t_ thought about it, but he can’t really put his finger down on what he wants. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to lose him.

 

\----

 

Tooru’s not a morning person, so Hajime is more than a little surprised when he actually shows up on time, like said he would. He's wearing sweatpants, and Hajime remembers how cold gets--his feet are always freezing, no matter the time of year. Hajime runs hot, which was another reason why they were kind of perfect. 

Hajime clears his throat, trying to chase the thought away, and waves. Tooru makes his way over in a sort of half jog. "Promise me we can get coffee after this," he says around an impressively large yawn. 

Hajime nods, throat feeling a bit tight. Tooru looks more–vulnerable like this, sleepy and soft. It’s a sight Hajime hasn’t seen in awhile–towards the end, neither of them were ready to give an inch, and they each wore a thin veneer of armor, as if that would stop everything from breaking.

“You ready?” Tooru, asks, and Hajime realizes he’s been quiet for a little too long. He nods, and they set off.

They’re taking Hajime’s usual circuit around the gravel path, past the few other people awake at this hour. Birds start to come out as the sun rises, and the crunching of gravel grows louder as more runners join them.

Hajime keeps his eyes straight ahead and focuses on the way his breath clouds in front of him, and not Tooru besides him. They’re a comfortable distance apart; Hajime could reach out and touch him, if he wanted to, but they never brush shoulders.

When they used to run together, when they were dating, Tooru would purposely run into Hajime and laugh when he stumbled a step or two. Hajime would always shove him back, and old women would tut at them as they ran by, laughing breathlessly.

It’s not like that now. If not for the sound of Tooru’s breath and his shoes against the path and his shadow keeping tempo with Hajime’s, he wouldn’t know he was there.

There’s a little kiosk selling coffee, and they stop and each get a cup. Tooru makes use of the sugar packets and cream, and Hajime stands off to the side, warms his cold hands around the styrofoam.

Tooru makes his way back to him, smiling a bit. He’d clipped his bangs back, but some hair has gotten loose. It isn’t his best look–hair plastered to his temples with sweat, his face red–but Hajime still wants to kick something because _goddammit._

“Would you like some coffee with your sugar?” Hajime says when Tooru stops in front of him.

Tooru huffs. “I see you still drink you coffee black, like a bitter old man. I bet you still go to bed early, too.”

“And I know you still wake up at noon,” Hajime counters. Tooru laughs a little, but his expression is a little tight. Everything these days seems to remind Hajime that they used to be the closest people in the world to each other, and now they have to pretend that they don't know everything about each other.

After a pause, Hajime says, “I’m sorry. This is weird.”

“Yeah, it is,” Tooru says, and he doesn’t really say it any sort of way: just a simple admission of fact. There’s nothing that either of them could do to make it less so.

(They could just stop seeing each other all together, but neither suggests it.)

They make another loop around the path, drinking coffee and not really saying anything. When Hajime’s finished his cup, he chucks it into a trash can with a little more force than needed. Tooru raises an eyebrow, and tosses his in a little more gently.

“Well,” Tooru says, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants and checking the time, “I have practice soon.”

Hajime checks his watch. It’s 7 am–they’ve been out here for a little more than two hours. “I have class in a few hours.”

“See ya, I guess,” Tooru says, and Hajime’s suddenly at a loss–he can’t just hug him, but a handshake would be way too formal.

“Bye,” he says instead, raising a hand awkwardly.

They part ways, and Hajime thinks about how they didn’t touch each other once the entire time.

  


“How was it?” Tadashi asks, when Hajime opens to door to the apartment. Hajime’s surprised to find him up this early, but there he is, at the kitchen table with his computer and a few books opened around him.  

Hajime pulls off his shoes off at the door. “About as awkward as you’d expect.”

Tadashi shrugs, his glasses reflecting the light of his computer screen in the dim apartment. “Could be worse.” He looks up when Hajime flicks the light on. “Oh, thanks.”

“I mean,” Hajime says, going to the fridge and pulling out a carton of milk. “We didn’t fight or anything.”

“That’s good,” Tadashi says. “Clean glasses are in the dish rack.”

“Thanks. Want some?”

“I’m good. I made coffee.”

“Already had some,” Hajime says, pouring himself a glass of milk. He sits down at the the table with it. “It was...nice.”

Tadashi looks over his glasses at Hajime. “It’ll be better next time. If there is a next time?”

“I think we’re running again next week.”

Tadashi smiles at Hajime, but the effect is a bit macabre; the light from the computer deepens the bags under his eyes and make his freckles stark against his skin. “That’s good,” he says again.

Hajime hums, takes a drink of milk. He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, what he’s holding to his chest–that the simple fact that they’re even doing this is proof that Tooru doesn’t want to let him go, either. It shouldn’t make him feel so stupidly relieved, but it does.

 

\---

 

Tuesdays become their day. They’ll meet up at park and run for an hour or two, and then they’ll buy coffee–never for each other–and maybe chat for a bit before they have places to be. Once or twice Tooru texts Hajime and tells him that he can’t make it because work or volleyball, and Hajime runs by himself instead of sleeping in. It’s getting warmer and warmer, and he no longer has to bring a jacket or wear tracksuit bottoms to keep the cold at bay. The sun’s rising earlier, too.

It’s when he’s running alone that he realizes just how much presence Tooru has, at least to him. They don’t talk like they used to, not by far, but it’s not until Hajime’s running alone does he realize that he’s been pacing himself to Tooru’s breaths, listening for the crunch of gravel as he runs beside him. It doesn’t feel lonely, anymore than coming home when Tadashi’s out, but there’s a solitude that Hajime can’t say whether or not he enjoys.

And Hajime _misses_ Tooru, even when he’s standing right next to him. It’s not the same as it was, and it might never be again. He used to worry about this, back before they got together. Dating Tooru–until the inevitable fall–was something like a dream that Hajime didn’t want to wake up to.

This is the trade off.

One morning, the routine is different. Tooru is never the first one there, never early, only this time, he is. Hajime slows to a walk when he reaches the tree they always meet under. It’s gotten warm enough that even Tooru’s switched to shorts, and he’s stretching his calves, curling his fingers under his toes, when Hajime stops in front of him.

“You’re early,” Hajime to the top of Tooru’s head.

“Practice was brutal yesterday, so I went to bed early,” Tooru says, voice slightly muffled.   He straightens. “Let’s go.”

And they’re running again, like they have been for over a month, but Hajime’s thinking about how Tooru never went to bed early unless he was forced. It might be that he’s lying to Hajime, but–something about the way he said it, maybe something about how he’s changed, but Hajime believes him.

“Maybe your cat is a good influence on you,” Hajime says, a few hundred feet down the path.

Tooru huffs out a laugh. “Hardly. Even I shouldn’t sleep that much.”

Hajime wishes that he could just get over him already, but he pushes the thought aside and says, “Tadashi’s sort of like a cat.”

“Does he sleep all day, too?” Tooru says lightly.

“And stays up late.” _Just like you_.

“I can’t believe you’re replacing me with another pinch server,” Tooru says, and Hajime is startled at the joke but laughs anyway. “And one so much younger than us!”

Hajime doesn’t really know _why_ Tooru’s suddenly so open, so easy to talk to, but he plays along. “Not everyone wants to room with a bean pole.”

“I am _not_ a bean pole,” Tooru says in mock outrage.

Hajime hums. “If you say so.”

"See, this is why we broke up," Tooru says, and then Hajime watches as his face twists in horror, because he’s probably crossed a line. But it's so sudden, so wrong, that Hajime can't help but burst out laughing, his head dropping and shoulders shaking.

"I'm so sorry," Tooru gasps, "Oh my God–" but Hajime doesn't stop. It's not like he's over anything, but he lifts his head again, grins, and repeats to himself, "this is why we broke up.”

They’ve stopped dead on the trail, and Tooru still looks horrified, hands clapped over his mouth, but Hajime can’t stop laughing. People are turning to look, but that doesn’t matter when Tooru joins in.

They haven’t laughed together in a while, and when they’ve stopped, Tooru has a sort of windblown look on him. Not quite starstruck, but getting there.

So it just–becomes a joke, their _thing_. Hajime can’t understand how easy it is to say it, but when Tooru steps on the back of his shoe by accident, he’s saying it, or when Hajime forgets his wallet and Tooru has to buy him coffee, or even when they show up at the exact same time.

So. Hajime doesn’t understand it, but it feels like it’s been so long since they just joked or pretended to fight and bicker that he can’t help but feel relieved. He’s so used to awkward silences and stilted conversations that this is just–like something’s breaking inside of him, but in a good way.

“I was thinking of inviting everyone over,” Tooru says one morning.

“Who exactly is ‘everyone’?” Hajime asks dryly, knowing that Tooru knows half of the volleyball world and the other half of Tokyo.

“Just, you know, high school people. Wouldn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Only, Yahaba can’t come.”

Which means that Kyoutani won’t come, and the underclassmen are still in Miyagi or scattered around the rest of Japan. “So just the four of us, again?”

Tooru nods vigorously. “Yeah, I was thinking of having a housewarming party.”

Hajime doesn’t mention that it can’t exactly be a house _warming_ party if Tooru’s already lived there for months, (or that he doesn’t have an house at all) only shrugs. “Aright.”

The party ends up involving TV on in the background (Matsukawa had threatened to turn it off if they play the X Files, so it’s some game show) Scully running off as soon as she catches sight of Hajime (“She can sense evil!” Hanamaki calls, and Hajime pretends not to hear) the four of them seated at Tooru’s living room table, a pack of cards, and alcohol.

None of them can remember the rules of poker, or any game except Old Maid and Go Fish. Hanamaki wants to play Old Maid but Tooru insists on Go Fish. They rock paper scissors for it, and a minute later Tooru is smugly dealing cards while Hanamaki is in the kitchen, aggressively pouring himself a drink with way too much vodka. Tooru’s got a glass of wine (which turns into two, then three) while Matsukawa and Hajime, the youngest and strongest of the group respectively, hold beers in their hands.

In retrospect, the whole thing is a terrible idea. They don’t play any drinking games, but Hanamaki gets trashed almost immediately and Tooru’s eyelids droop incrementally more as the night wears on. He keeps giggling at nothing, and Hajime takes the bottle away at a certain point because he knows for a fact that he’s got practice in the morning.

The game devolves; Hanamaki disappears and Tooru starts monopolizing the cards, dealing them out over and over again, and then snatching them back before Hajime or Matsukawa can pick them up.

"I just. Want. To learn. How to shuffle," Tooru says, teeth unnecessarily gritted as cards flip out of his hands and across the table. He slaps the remaining cards down on the wooden table top. "Where's Hanamaki?" 

Hajime looks around, sees him passed out on the couch, his head nearly obscured by numerous couch cushions. He jerks a thumb in his direction and Tooru groans. "No ones awake to teach me." 

"Here," Hajime says, reaching across the table and scooping the cards back in a deck. "You should shuffle them overhand so you don't bend the cards." He demonstrates, keeping his hands loose. 

"I don't want to shuffle like that, it's boring," Tooru says, reaching for the cards again. Hajime pulls his hands back, out of reach. 

"It's harder than it looks," Hajime says, slightly offended. "My uncle taught me." 

"The one from Hokkaido?" 

"Yeah." Hajime's uncle is obsessed with poker to the point where he takes yearly trips to America just to play at casinos in Las Vegas. Hajime knows that he would be disappointed in his nephew for forgetting the rules to Texas Hold'em. 

Tooru turns his nose up. "Only you, Hajime, would have to be taught to shuffle in the easiest way possible." Hajime rolls his eyes, but Tooru continues. "I can't see why he taught you that way instead of something cool."

"You're gonna mess your cards up," Hajime repeats.

Tooru levels his gaze. "Oh sorry, wouldn't want to ruin my three hundred yen deck of cards." 

"Two hundred," Matsukawa says, lips quirking over the rim of his glass. Tooru makes another grab for the cards, and this time, Hajime lets him take them.   
Tooru tries to shuffle the deck again, and again the cards flip all over the table. 

"If you would just--" Hajime starts, before Tooru cuts him off with an annoyed, "See, this is why we broke up." 

Matsukawa’s hand is frozen halfway to bringing his beer up to his lips, but Hajime laughs without thinking and says, “We did _not_ break up because you can’t shuffle.”

Tooru raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t say it was because _I_ can’t shuffle cards, it’s cause _you_ can’t.”

Hajime can feel the way that Matsukawa is watching them, but he says, “I would have thought it’s because I can’t play poker.”

Tooru laughs, “No, we both can’t play poker. We were doomed.”

  


  
"Hey," Matsukawa says, tugging on Hajime's sleeve after Tooru shuts the door. Hajime, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa are standing on the landing out side his apartment–well, Hanamaki is draped over Matsukawa tall frame and nearly unconscious. Hajime’s feeling a little unsteady on his feet himself, so he’s taking the train home. "Are you two...okay?"

"What?" Hajime’s a bit confused, until he remembers how startled Matsukawa had seemed back when they were arguing. "Oh. Yeah." 

"Okay–because it just seemed like–hell, I don't know, but you two sounded kind of like you did back in high school."

Hajime searches for words.  "I know it's kind of weird but–I think it's cause we haven't been just friends in so long." 

"Right," Matsukawa says carefully.

Hajime wants to keep talking about it, wants to defend it, wants to say _It’s strange and it’s kind of fucked up but it’s not unhealthy and we haven’t had that in so long._

But he doesn’t.   


\---

 

"Can I ask you something?" 

Hajime turns his head to look at Tooru, who's staring straight ahead. They're resting on a curb after a run, cooling down with coffee cups resting at their feet. 

"Shoot," Hajime says, eyes tracing the line of Tooru’s profile. 

Tooru doesn't turn to him as he asks, "Are you trying to get me back?" 

In another time, another life, Hajime might make a joke about how self centered Tooru is, remind him that not everything revolves around him. But in this life, he can't say it because it's not true. Tooru isn't his life, but he's a point of orbit, a pillar, a grounding force that keeps his feet planted on the ground. 

So he says simply, truthfully, "No."

Tooru turns to him now, and Hajime tries not the shy away from the sudden eye contact. His gaze is searching, so Hajime says, "I think I was trying to, before–that night in the kitchen. Maybe even that day at your place.  But it feels different, now.” Not that he’s not in love with Tooru anymore, but– “I'm trying to get you back as a person. Not as a...boyfriend. You mean too much for me to just have you drift apart, even if we’re not together.” He waits, but Tooru doesn’t say anything. “Unless you _want_ to drift apart, I guess." 

Tooru’s silent, then, "I don't want to." He stands, offers Hajime his hand. Hajime takes it, throws both of their cups in the trash. 

"Come on, let's do another lap."

"We might throw up," Hajime says, his stomach warm and full of coffee.

Tooru says, "We'll take it easy," and when he starts off along the path, Hajime follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is quite a bit shorter than the last chapter, but it also takes place over a much shorter time frame. The quote at the top is one of my favorites, ever :,) 
> 
> Talk to me at aliceinstripes.tumbr.com ! We can cry about iwaoi and haikyuu 
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO CONFession I totally didn't mean to write Yamaguchi in I just chose a name for Hajime's roommate and then I remembered that Yamaguchi's first name is Tadashi and I just kinda kept it cause it worked out SO

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I planned this to be a one shot but it ended up being way longer than expected :,) So many thanks to pomodoridori for beta'ing this for me, I couldn't have done it with out you. I'll try to get the second chapter out as soon as possible but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
>  
> 
> TBH the only X Files episode I've seen fully is the vampire town ep.


End file.
